


Substitute Player

by juice817, semaphoredrivethru



Series: Past Curfew [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:10:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juice817/pseuds/juice817, https://archiveofourown.org/users/semaphoredrivethru/pseuds/semaphoredrivethru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a letter from Percy forces Bill to face facts, Bill will do just about anything to try and get it out of his system if it seems like a good idea at the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Substitute Player

**Author's Note:**

> _Originally posted January 23, 2007._

~~~*~~~  


Bill stretched lazily as he rolled onto his back to stare up at his ceiling, the rainy morning outside filling the room with a soft grey glow. It was a Saturday, and he didn't have anything pressing to do today, so he moved slowly as he got up and strolled into the loo to relieve himself. Next weekend would be a different story though; there would be packing and cleaning and all sorts of organising to be done before his trip back to the London offices for his annual report. For now, though, all Bill had to worry about was his morning shower, and after that, maybe a spot of breakfast.

Clean, and wearing nothing but a pair of loose denims that hung low on his narrow hips, Bill walked into his kitchen and set the kettle on to boil. Just then, a plain brown owl came flying through the open window, and Bill couldn't help the jump his heart gave as he recognised a Hogwarts owl. He would have been lying to himself if he didn't admit that he was hoping to see Oliver's familiar, sloppy scrawl as he unrolled the scroll, just as he would have been lying to himself if he didn't admit the plunge of disappointment in his gut when he saw Percy's cramped, yet always precise penmanship, instead.

  
 _Dear Bill,_

 _Forgetting for a moment that we're pretending that you don't know I saw you kissing your "friend," Nigel, when we were all there visiting over the summer hols, I've some advice to ask you. And please, let's not go into the irony of me not knowing how to do something, because I've already worked past that, thanks ever so._

 _A friend of mine (you remember Oliver Wood, don't you?), has started telling some of us that he's... that is to say, he prefers... well, his attentions are where yours are, too. He's the only person who's ever told me something like this before, and I've got to admit it's a bit... well, it was a bit rattling at first. But I'm not really concerned, since he doesn't seem interested in me, so much as he's focused on his boyfriend. The problem, really, is that I've no idea how to tell him that I've no problem with him that I hadn't before. He's a right slob, sometimes, and he just doesn't seem to understand how important school and school rules can be, you know?_

 _I'm not sure how to tell him, without making too big of a deal about it, and I was wondering if you had any suggestions. Or, maybe, if it was all right with you if I could mention that my oldest brother likes men, too. If I needed the help making him understand that it really is fine, you see._

 _And while I'm at it, I'm really fine about you, too. I'm sure Mum and Dad would be, as well, especially if they knew you were dating Nigel, since Mum thinks Nigel's just the best._

 _Love,_

 _Your brother Percy_

  
Bill lost track of how long he sat there at his kitchen table, Percy's letter in his hand. Eventually, the kettle whistled shrilly, shaking Bill from his daze, and he stood, making tea out of pure reflex. So Oliver had a boyfriend now, just like Bill had wanted him to. And he was coming out to people, now that he had someone that made it worth the headaches and heartaches to openly share that part of himself.

Sitting back down, Bill Summoned paper and a pen to write back to his brother, blowing out a long breath as he tried to compose his thoughts. Doing his best to ignore the sharp ache in his chest, the surge of the emptiness that had plagued him for months despite the clubs and the dates and the boys like the one he'd had just the night before, right in his living room, Bill wrote.

  
 _Dear Percy,_

 _Firstly, Nigel isn't my boyfriend, no matter what you might have seen. He and I are best mates, and while we might be quite stunning side-by-side, there are several very good reasons we're friends only. Not the least of which is a complete and utter lack of romantic feelings between us, as well as the both of us being rather... ah, bossy. ~~That, and Nigel can't seem to shut up when fucking.~~ And thank you, by the way, for not mentioning it to the rest of the family; I haven't really figured out the best way to share that particular fact of my life._

 _So Oliver's coming out, is he? We wrote back and forth a bit last year, after we ran into each other when I was there. You remember, don't you? Harry lost the bones in his arm and I stayed the weekend to keep Mum from descending on the school like some sort of avenging angel? Well, Oliver and I became friends, after a fashion, and I knew he wasn't ready then to come out, but I reckon if he's got a bloke now... I do hope this boyfriend of his is treating him well. I'd ask him myself, but we've rather lost touch over the past few months, and while I can be over-bearing and over-protective of you lot, mates tend to get right tetchy when I pull that on them._

 _As for letting Oliver know you're all right with him, just be all right. Don't treat him any differently. Unless you're into blokes, too... but somehow I don't think you and he would be the best of couples ~~because I'd have to kill you, and then Mum would kill me, and then the family'd be a right mess without its two brightest sons, now wouldn't it?~~. Oliver really does hate to have a big deal made about him, unless it's for his Quidditch, you know._

 _Anyway. I'll see you at Christmas, I'm sure, and I'll see about getting you that book you were looking for about the laws of the Middle Kingdom. Take care, and try not to give Oliver too much trouble about sneaking out to see his bloke, okay? Young love and all that._

 _Love,_

 _~Bill_

  
Once the letter was sealed and sent, Bill leant back in his chair and ran a hand through his still-damp hair, vaguely surprised that more time hadn't passed. He felt rather like he'd aged a lifetime between his shower and now, but the ache he could feel to the marrow of his bones could just be because he hadn't eaten anything since the night before. Hunger could do strange things to a man, just like thirst.

All the same, Bill didn't much feel like tea and breakfast anymore.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The Muggle club was filled to the seams with beautiful, writhing bodies, men with mouths made for sucking cock and arses made for pounding into. Bill knew he could have had any number of the blokes in the place, and probably a few of them all at the same time, but for some reason tonight it didn't hold that much appeal. Not that he knew why, of course; most likely it was port key lag, and nothing more.

Judging by the careful, sideways looks he'd been getting from Nigel all night, Bill knew his best mate didn't believe that thin excuse, either. It had been just over a year since the last time they'd been to this particular club, and Bill felt tonight like he'd aged a lifetime since he'd walked out into the street with Nigel, Robert and Tony in tow, only to leave his friends behind when he saw a gorgeous young thing standing under a street lamp, waiting. Now, though, it was just Bill and Nigel; Robert and Tony had, oddly enough, settled down with each other a few months ago, and declared themselves done with the club scene.

It was strange, really, that Bill's friends were pairing off and finishing up the sometimes painful process of growing up. The idea of monogamy, of being that sort of boring and responsible adult, had back then been abhorrent to Bill, and he'd have taken the piss out on his friends something fiercely for it. But now, Bill only felt a vague sense of envy that sat uneasily in his gut as he looked around the club and admitted to himself that he wasn't going to find what he wanted tonight here.

Nigel pushed off from the bar, prowling after a pretty little thing that looked particularly flexible, and Bill gave his best mate an encouraging grin as he watched him go. Mr Right wouldn't be in a den of iniquity like this, but Mr Right Now would, and Bill hoped Nigel would find at least that tonight; only one of them should spend the entire evening brooding. Finishing off his over-priced and under-whelming drink, Bill glanced over at the door, letting himself fantasize for just a moment about leaving and Oliver being there to tell him it all had been a mistake even though Bill had, once upon a time, wanted things to be exactly like this.

Bill's vision blurred and his stomach gave a painful twist that might have been from the shite alcohol just as much as it might have been from his pity party for one. _I've got to stop this_ , he thought. _Got to get my fucking head on right. Maybe some fresh air..._

Leaving his empty glass on the bar, Bill made his way to the door, not even bothering to look for Nigel; he'd be back before Nigel noticed him gone, anyhow.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Timothy shoved his hands further into the pockets of his jacket and hunched his shoulders. It was starting to get cold at night, but he'd never turn a trick hiding inside. Except maybe at the club across the street, but he didn't have the cover charge to spare and wasn't sure the bouncer would let him in anyway. He was old enough, barely, but he looked young, and the bouncer had seen him loitering outside and going off with men enough times to have probably figured out what he was doing.

He'd gotten pretty good at spotting the blokes who were looking for someone like him. He didn't know why they didn't just fuck someone at the club; most of them weren't bad looking or mean, although the occasional one was, but he could usually find at least one bloke every night if he hung out here.

Timothy straighted up as the door opened, spilling a tall freckled man with long red hair out into the night. He remembered seeing the man go in earlier, and had marked him as someone Not Interested then. "Damn," he muttered. Running a hand absently over his own short dark hair, Timothy slumped back against the streetlight. He really wanted to find tonight's john so he could either go inside somewhere, or else go home after they finished. He was getting _cold_.

The man was staring at him. Timothy _felt_ that look and turned to meet it. The man, already pale, had gone nearly white and seemed to lose his balance briefly. Timothy started to turn away, sure he was just falling down drunk, but then he began to walk very steadily to where Timothy was standing.

Well. Things were starting to look up. Timothy arranged his expression into a friendly half-smile as he watched the man come toward him. His hands pushed hard into his pockets but he didn't hunch his shoulders again. A bloke liked to see what he was buying, after all. "Hey."

Bill worked his throat, trying to swallow. For a minute there, in the streetlights and the haze of alcohol, he'd could have sworn... but it was just the short hair, the hunched shoulders, a few vague facial similarities. It wasn't Oliver, lying in wait like he'd been a year ago. It was just some Muggle kid with hard eyes and a practiced pose that all but screamed sex.

"It's a school night, you know," Bill said, the words flying from past to present, and he wasn't entire sure why he didn't just turn around and leave. Go back to his hotel room and get screamingly drunk, instead of just moderately pissed. But his feet were rooted to the spot as he looked over the kid's face; in the right light, he could have been Oliver's slightly older brother, and Bill didn't have it in him to ignore the pang of loss the thought brought.

Timothy nodded once; so that's how they'd play it. He hunched his shoulders and slumped into an almost belligerent stance. "So?" he said. "I'm not in school anymore." His eyes drifted over the older man's face. This one was gorgeous, could have had any bloke in the club, but his eyes were so sad. Timothy stepped forward, into the guy's space, and curled a hand into the lapel of his open jacket.

Forcing his fingers to uncurl from the fist he'd made, Bill reached out and traced the line of the kid's nose, upturned at the end just like Oliver's. God, it was all so _familiar_ and _wrong_ at the same time, and Bill couldn't think straight for the desire to let himself just pretend. He was fairly sure he'd be able to convince the kid to play along if he had enough notes in his pocket, but it wouldn't do to be wrong about the kid's profession after all. "What's your name, kid?" he asked, brushing the backs of his fingers along the kid's jaw.

"What do you want it to be?" Timothy leaned into the light touch at his jaw, one corner of his mouth kicking up in a self-deprecating smile.

There. Confirmation. Bill paused, and then decided it might be worth it, if only for the few hours he'd be able to make the fantasy last. "We'll talk about it at my hotel," he said, hailing a cab. "How much?"

"Depends on what you want," Timothy said. "What you want me to do." He smiled up at the other man, reached up to touch his jaw in an echo of the way he'd been touched. "We can talk about that at your hotel too." He shrugged one shoulder. "I'm not expensive."

Bill was fairly sure he'd be paying for this with more than just money, but he'd reached the point where even the emotional cost might just be worth it, and he'd had enough to drink that he didn't really care if it wasn't. When the cab pulled up, Bill opened the door and slid in, leaving it open for the kid... his whore for the evening, soon to be bought and paid for. The kid closed the cab door, sitting close to Bill in the confines of the backseat, and Bill rattled off directions to his hotel, eyes firmly fixed on the lanky, greasy hair of the driver in front of him.

Then, Bill had put his arm around Oliver, kissed him and touched him, seducing him. Now, he just sat there, hands on his knees as they rode the few blocks to Bill's usual hotel.

Timothy sat silently, refusing to fidget. He wanted to; he'd expected the man to do _something_ but he just sat there, almost as if he were ignoring Tim now that they were on their way to a hotel room. "What's _your_ name?" Tim finally asked as the cab pulled up to a nice hotel. They wouldn't want him in there if they knew what he was.

"Bill." He turned to look at the hotel, and then back to the younger man beside him. "I'm Bill."

Bill got out of the cab and headed for the hotel, knowing he'd be followed now, just like Oliver had followed him then. But this time, he paused at the doors, and cupped the whore's face, thumb brushing his high cheekbone softly. "And you're Oliver," he finally said, knowing he probably sounded pathetic. But if he was going to pay for a shag for the first time ever, then he'd be damned if he wasn't going to take full advantage of it. Even if he did have a strange, hard lump in his throat as his vision swirled, and Bill could almost see Oliver, looking up at him with those adoring eyes of his.

"Bill," Timothy whispered. He turned his face into Bill's hand, kissed the palm of it. "Let's go to your room, Bill." He covered Bill's hand with his own, pulling it from his face and threading their fingers together as he led Bill to the lift. They waited in silence, holding hands, until the doors opened, and Timothy pulled Bill into the empty car. Once the doors shut, Timothy watched Bill press the button for his floor. The lift rose smoothly and soon enough the doors opened again to let them out. Timothy let Bill lead this time, following him out of the lift and down the hall, waiting silently as Bill opened the door. He walked through and Tim followed, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of the couch as he looked around. "Nice place," he said, watching Bill head directly for the scotch.

"It's somewhere to sleep," Bill said with a shrug, pouring himself a glass, hesitating only briefly before pouring one for not-Oliver. He offered the drink over, an expectant look on his face. They had to talk money before he could have what he wanted, and Bill knew it even if he'd never done anything remotely like this before. Oliver had been impressed by the hotel, too.

Timothy crossed the room and accepted the glass, tossing back a healthy swallow without even a grimace. "Thanks," he said, giving Bill a half smile again. He settled himself on the couch as he took another drink, still watching Bill carefully. "So. I'm Oliver. Tell me a little about myself." His lips twitched before he smoothed his expression into mere curiosity. It was Bill's money. Tim wondered idly if Oliver were dead then pushed the thought away. It didn't really matter to him either way.

Bill sighed and downed half his drink before setting the rest down and shrugging out of his leather jacket. "Stubborn as all bloody hell," he murmured, a faint smile lifting his lips as he pulled his hair free of its tie and combed long fingers through the silky strands. "Mad about... you're mad about football. And never do anything half-way; not sports or sex." Sighing again, Bill let his shoulders slump for a moment, and then he straightened, gathering himself and putting on enough of a mask to keep it light. He summoned a smile, not that it made it to his eyes. "You still believe in happy endings."

Raising an eyebrow at that, Timothy set his glass down and stood. He moved to Bill and put his hands on the other man's hips. "Okay," Timothy whispered, and leaned in to kiss Bill's throat. "Do I love you?" he murmured as he nosed at Bill's ear. "As much as you love me?"

Swallowing heavily, Bill decided to go for the whole fantasy. "More," he said, laughing bitterly at himself. He cupped the side of not-Oliver's face and nuzzled their noses together. "Please tell me you kiss," he breathed, lips grazing the tip of the younger man's nose.

"I kiss," Timothy said, and tilted his head up to brush his lips over Bill's. He moved closer, pressing his body to the length of Bill's, deepening the kiss slowly. "I'll do anything you want."

The body in his arms wasn't solid enough, didn't fit quite right or taste like he wanted, but if Bill closed his eyes and thought about it, it was almost like Oliver. Almost enough. "I want you to stay," he breathed, kissing not-Oliver, but seeing Oliver in his mind. "I need you... to stay."

"Then I'll stay." Timothy closed his eyes, moved in spite of himself by the need in Bill's voice, the strong emotion so clearly felt. He slid his arms around Bill's waist and held him as they kissed over and over again. His fingers curled in Bill's shirt. "Let's go to bed," Tim finally whispered.

Bill wrapped his arms around the slightly too-slim waist and kissed soft, willing lips. Those lips were enough, were just close enough that Bill relaxed a little more. "Ollie," he sighed, pulling them to the bed, tugging up on a rough jumper, hands making short work of plain Muggle clothes. Oliver loved to be undressed quickly, loved to jump right into the slide of skin to skin, and right now Bill would give him just about anything. "Missed you so much, Ollie."

Tim let Bill undress him and then returned the favour, smoothing his hands over the freckled skin he uncovered. "I missed you too," he said softly. He tangled his hands in long red hair and pressed himself against Bill again, breath hissing in as their cocks bumped together. "You feel so good. It's been so long." Tim tugged Bill's head down, captured his mouth in another slow wet kiss.

"Ollie," Bill murmured, cupping firm, round buttocks in his hands and squeezing as he added, "Get on the bed, pet."

Then Bill stepped back and went around the room, turning off most of the lights one at a time. Too much light and he might see clearly, might have to face the insanity of this. A single spell would have done this faster, he knew, but his companion was a Muggle. Just like he'd thought Oliver was then, too. God, he was so fucking pathetic.

Tim settled himself square in the center of the bed, watching as Bill moved from light to light, leaving them almost in darkness. "I need you," Tim murmured. He spread his legs open, reaching between to stroke himself slowly.

Pulling the lube and condoms out of the bedside drawer, Bill focused on the younger man, pumping his cock to hardness. _He has to make himself want me_ , Bill thought before he could stop himself. He paused, but climbed onto the bed anyhow; the only thing more embarrassing than paying for a fuck would have to be not being able to perform.

"You always need me, don't you?" he asked, settling himself against not-Oliver. He nosed along the other man's hairline and neck, ignoring how he smelled smoke and petrol exhaust instead of broom oil and school soap. "I never wanted to hear it before, but I knew."

"Why wouldn't you let me tell you?" Tim asked, turning into Bill's arms, tangling their legs together. He stroked a hand slowly up Bill's side, murmuring wordless approval at the feel of warm skin and hard lean muscle under his fingers. He knew well enough the sounds to make, the way to touch, when a man wanted tenderness instead of a quick fuck. Tim's lips quirked cynically before he consciously smoothed his expression into want. "I do, I always need you."

"I was afraid," Bill admitted, his eyes closed as he sought lips to kiss. "For us both." He could feel his erection flagging, knew it was because he was in danger of drowning in self-pity. He grabbed the other man's hand and put it over his crotch, tangling their fingers in wiry, short red curls. "Let's not talk now."

Tim obligingly wrapped his fingers around Bill's cock. "Okay," he murmured into Bill's mouth. He licked at Bill's lips and began a hard, slow rhythm with his hand, rubbing with an expert touch. "Touch me." Tim nipped at Bill's lips, leaning into him to coax him into lying down, then began to kiss down Bill's chest. Slowly, Tim dipped his tongue into Bill's navel and then worked his way further down to suck Bill into his mouth.

 _That's it_ , Bill thought, running his hands over strong shoulders, up a well-muscled neck. His fingers carded through short hair that would have been soft if not for the little bit of styling product in it, and Bill bit off a cleaning spell to fix that. Instead, he just flattened one foot on the bed and groaned softly. "Good," he breathed, lifting his hips slightly. "God, I always want you so _much_ , Ollie..."

Closing his eyes, Tim settled into the rhythm he knew so well. Sucking, licking, purring around the shaft in his mouth, Tim worked Bill's cock until the other man was thrusting up into Tim's mouth, sounds of pleasure spilling from his throat. Tim added a hint of teeth as he cupped Bill's testicles. He didn't mind if Bill came this way. He'd even swallow, although it would add to Bill's tab.

Bill whinged softly, and very nearly let himself be dragged under. But somehow, he managed to summon enough restraint to push that amazing mouth off his cock, groaning at the loss. "Not like this," he panted, needing so much more, more than a single night could offer and more than he would have been willing to ask for, even if this really were Oliver. "Inside you. Please."

"Okay," Tim breathed. That answered _that_ question. Tim slid up Bill's body, kissing and stroking, then curled his hands over Bill's shoulders and rolled, pulling Bill on top of him. "Fuck me," he murmured, nosing at Bill's jaw. "I want to feel you inside me." Tim lifted one leg up and wrapped it around Bill's hips, lifting his own hips to rub his cock into Bill's stomach. "Fuck me hard."

Eyes still closed, Bill cupped the other man's face with one hand as he kissed him slowly, reaching with the other hand for the bottle of lube. "Ollie..." he murmured, reminding himself. This was what he wanted, this was what he was going to do. " _Ollie_." Pulling away, Bill kissed his way down the young man's neck, down his chest, sprinkling kisses along one hip bone as he opened the lube and slicked his fingers. Bill brushed his cheek against a cock, not quite fully hard, and turned to suck on the head as he tenderly slid two fingers into the warm passage just below. The taste was all wrong, and Bill clenched his eyes shut and sucked harder as he forcibly locked himself in his self-delusion. _Oliver_...

"Your Ollie," Tim said, breath hissing in at the feel of Bill's mouth on his cock, Bill's fingers in his arse. Men didn't usually suck him, they just wanted to be sucked, and the novelty of it rushed through him in a flash of hot pleasure. His next moan was the real thing instead of the practiced noises he made with every fuck. "All yours. God, please fuck me." Tim realised vaguely that he was actually going to enjoy this. " _Bill._ "

Humming wordlessly around his mouthful, Bill twisted his fingers and added a third, not giving himself a chance to think about anything more than this touch and taste. It didn't take much before Bill could tell it was more than enough, and he sucked once more before lifting his head and smirking to himself as he kissed a steady path up, remembering only a breath before pushing in that he wasn't supposed to yet. Groaning, Bill stretched and reached for the condom, fumbling with the foil as he tore it open.

"Fucking _finally_ ," he moaned once he had the condom on, and hitched a strong thigh up over his hip, eyes slitted open just enough so that it really _could_ have been Oliver under him, moaning with practice as he sucked Bill deeper with each shallow thrust.

Tim curled his leg more tightly around Bill, settling into the familiar rhythm with an unfamiliar rush of pleasure. "Oh yeah," he breathed, "finally." He rubbed his hands up Bill's back and tangled them in the long red hair at the nape of his neck, guiding Bill's mouth to his. Tim moaned softly as they kissed. "It's so good, no one feels like you do."

Bill laughed softly, smiling against the lips pressed to his. "I know, pet," he breathed, and pulled out only to start a steady, hard rhythm in and out. "No one like you, either."

It felt so good; Tim could almost forget he wasn't Oliver, almost forget he was being paid to do this. Almost forget it didn't mean anything at all. Almost. Tim's hands tightened in Bill's hair as he reminded himself what was really going on. He moaned just a touch too enthusiastically as he moved into each thrust. "Fuck me harder, Bill, want to feel you for days."

Growling, Bill thrust harder into the body beneath him. He wanted Oliver's noises; those helpless, artless sounds of pure pleasure that made him sound like he was going to die from sensation alone. But he wasn't going to get them, because this wasn't Oliver and someone else was hearing them now, because that was how Bill had claimed he'd wanted it.

"Feel me," he growled dangerously, angling hard as he bent his head and nipped at an arched throat, barely resisting the urge to mark and claim as the tight clasp around his cock helped him to forget that this was all a lie. "You're _mine_."

"Yours," Tim moaned. "Please." He moved his hips up, encouraging Bill to move faster, thrust harder. He let go of Bill's hair so he could dig his fingers in the long planes of Bill's back and moaned again. Tim's head pressed back into the pillows, offering his throat to Bill's mouth and teeth. "Come," he murmured and gasped. "Oh fuck."

"Not yet," Bill panted, more than just half-mindless. "Can't end yet." He reared up, moving faster now with his eyes tightly shut and his mouth hanging open, low, desperate sounds tumbling past his lips. "Need... need this. Need you."

Tim leaned up and pressed his lips to the corner of Bill's open mouth. "I'm yours," he said again. "You feel _so_ good." Tim began to squeeze Bill deliberately every time he pulled back, relaxed to let Bill thrust back in hard and fast, and he pushed a hand between them to begin tugging at his own cock again. He expected Bill would want him to come too, that it would be necessary to the other man's fantasy, and while he was enjoying the friction he wasn't even close to coming yet. "I need you, too."

Bill felt emotions rising in his chest, overwhelming even the spectacular sensations of his steadily growing orgasm. He opened his eyes, words bubbling to his lips, and stopped breathing for a moment as he looked down at the man under him. A stranger, a whore, and so completely far from Oliver in so many ways that Bill probably should have stopped, but he didn't, because he was still hard and still close to coming. But at the same time, he needed to not face this now, so Bill stopped and backed away, pulling up on one of the other man's hips.

"Hands and knees," he rasped in a low voice, eyes glittering down at this man who was decidedly _not_ who Bill wanted him to be.

"Fuck," Tim muttered on a groan. He'd just been getting somewhere, too, when Bill had opened his eyes and stared down at Tim with an unfriendly expression before pulling out. "Yeah, alright." Tim let Bill roll him to his stomach and then raised himself up on elbows and knees, spreading his legs wide and tilting his hips back toward Bill. _It's your blunt._ Tim buried his face in his hands and waited for Bill to shove inside him again.

There. That was better. Bill curved his hands over very nearly perfect arse cheeks, petting as he leant over and pressed a kiss at the sweat-damped dip at the base of the other man's spine. "I'm sorry," he murmured, to this man, to Oliver, to himself. "So sorry, love." Still just kneeling there, instead of just shoving in again, Bill reached around and wrapped his long, freckled fingers around the other man's cock, pumping him firmly. "You're so gorgeous like this, you know."

Tim moaned and closed his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time a john had touched him like this. "Not like you," he mumbled, hips moving to push his cock into Bill's hand. Tim thought that if Oliver weren't dead, then he must certainly be sorry to have lost a bloke like this. Then Bill tightened his hand and Tim stopped thinking. He made a strangled noise and tried to think, to collect himself enough to play Bill's game. "Er, it's okay, don't be, _god_ , don't be sorry. I'm sorry too."

"Shh..." Bill murmured, kissing his way up a curved and straining back. He kept moving his hand steadily, working with his strong grip. "I know, gorgeous. I know."

"Bill," Tim whimpered, "please, fuck me." Bill's hand felt wicked on his cock, but it wasn't enough. Tim was losing himself in the fantasy and couldn't make himself care; he _needed_ for the first time in ages. "Please!"

Bill kissed between his shoulder blades. "Fuck yes," he groaned, squeezing once more before using his free hand to guide his way back in. The air stuttered in Bill's lungs as he sank into that warm, willing body, and Bill pumped his hand more firmly in appreciation for how bloody _good_ it felt. "Oh, god," he gasped, rotating his hips. "So... _god_."

Tim cried out and pushed back into Bill, then his hips moved forward into Bill's fist. His brain was swimming with pleasure. "Yeah," he moaned, " _god_." He pushed back again, tightened his muscles on the thick length inside him. "Move. Fuck me hard."

Grunting once, Bill started thrusting hard, in and out and in and out again, his hand moving back and forth on the same rhythm along the other man's hard and leaking cock. The slap of their bodies echoed through the room, and Bill gave up on trying to rebuild the fantasy in favour of finding his release just like this. He was groaning wordlessly, sweat broken out across his face and chest, and Bill was lost in the moment, riding high on the sensations. It didn't matter why he was here, only that he was, and that was enough as Bill groaned, low in his chest, grinding his hips as he thrust in, trying to hit that sweet spot, trying to make his partner come, trying to make this as good as he could for the both of them.

It just felt _so_ good. Tim was panting open-mouthed, unable to make a sound through the sheer wicked brilliance of being fucked this hard. And then Bill's cock rubbed over that inner bump and Tim simply imploded. He shoved back into Bill hard, back arched and arms taut as his hands dug into the bedding. Tim shook and spilled over Bill's hand, spurting hard enough to get spunk on his own chest as well.

Bill kept thrusting through the spasms around his cock, in and out as much as he could manage. When they eased, he gripped both hips in front of him and moved harder, faster, chasing his own orgasm until it broke, and he barely remembered to bite his lip in time to keep from calling out, just like he'd had to for every fuck over the past few months. Not that it really mattered just now, because Bill could almost go back to the fantasy that he didn't have to watch what he said as he came in hot, steady pulses, shaking as he thrust once more, and then sagged for a moment, panting, before rolling to the side and flopping onto his back, a sated grin on his face.

"Now _that_ ," he murmured, "was just about what I needed tonight."

Tim let himself fall to the bed, grimacing as he felt the mess he'd made but too satisfied to care enough to even move. "Good," he mumbled softly, face half-smashed into the pillow. With a grin he added, "That was sort of the point." Tim reached out to rest a hand on Bill's chest and closed his eyes.

Barking out a laugh, Bill nodded and pulled the condom off, dropping it into the dust bin beside the bed. "That's true," he said. He glanced over at his bedmate, wondering what his name really was and how much Bill owed him after that. But the young man's face had a goofy, relaxed look to it, and Bill knew it could wait a bit more. "Back in a tick," he said instead, rolling out of bed fluidly and walking across the room to the loo to wash up.

"Sure." Tim didn't even bother to open his eyes. Usually he was booted right away, sent off with a handful of notes and, sometimes, an embarrassed farewell. Then again, usually he didn't come like he just had and could manage to leave under his own power. Tim could feel the stupid expression on his face, and turned into the pillow just a little more. He was nearly asleep when he heard the soft footfalls approaching the bed again. "I'll go," he said. "Give me just a minute."

"Shower's yours, if you want it," Bill said instead. He'd used a quick cleaning spell, taking the smell of sweat, latex and sperm mostly off his skin, though it still lingered in the air of the room. He was at a loss, really, as to what else to say, so Bill just pulled his jeans on, looking at the man in his bed. Like this, sated and sprawled on his stomach, he looked even more like Oliver than before, and it made Bill's chest ache in distinct longing for the real thing. "You really do look like him," he murmured, pulling his Muggle wallet out and grabbing more than enough cash and tucking that into his front pocket.

Tim had been thinking wistfully of the hot water a hotel like this would have in abundant supply, a luxury his own tiny flat was frequently without, when Bill spoke so quietly. Tim reluctantly rolled over and sat up, running a hand absently through his hair. "I thought as much. Is, er, is he dead, then?"

Bill had just been noting a curious lack of tension in his shoulders until that point, and that was exactly when his entire body clenched as though preparing for flight. "No," he said, biting the word off.

"Sorry," Tim said. "I just thought... I mean. You love him. I thought maybe you couldn't have him any more. Sorry. Not my business." Tim stood and quickly crossed to the loo. He'd shower fast and just go, before he shoved his foot in his mouth again. Probably he should skip the shower, but Tim just couldn't pass up the chance for a hot one. He hurried, though, not letting himself indulge in more than a couple minutes under the steaming water. Clean, he rubbed a towel over his head to get the worst of the drips and then wrapped it around his waist before heading back into the other room. He didn't look at Bill, just headed straight for his clothes and silently began to dress.

 _People keep telling me how I feel about Oliver_ , Bill mused bitterly, only vaguely aware of the other man moving about the room. _As though I don't have enough sense to see that mess for what it really is. More than anyone on the outside, more than Nige, or this bloke. But I was doing just_ fine _without this, without tonight. What the bloody hell was I thinking, anyway? God, but I'm so completely fucked, even now_.

Looking up from the blank spot on the wall that he'd been staring at, Bill sighed and ran his hand through his long hair, combing out a few knots. For some reason, his mind was quiet, muffled; even the self-pity that he'd been expecting hadn't reared its head yet, and that alone should have made him nervous.

"He's happier now," Bill heard himself say out of nowhere, picking up the thread of earlier. _I don't have to explain myself_ , he wondered. _So why am I?_

Tim looked up at Bill in surprise. He hadn't expected an answer. "Are you sure about that?" Tim asked softly.

"Too late now if I'm not," Bill just said, walking over and digging in his pocket.

After tugging his jacket on, Tim shoved his hands in his pockets. "For what it's worth, I don't think it's ever too late."

Bill laughed softly and pulled out a roll of notes that were probably enough to buy an entire night with the sort of escort one hired by calling a discreet number and placing an order. "That's a nice thought, I reckon," he said, holding the money out with a wry grin.

Tim just shrugged and took the notes. "It's your life," he said. He thumbed through the notes and took a few of them, then handed the rest back. When Bill wouldn't take them, Tim pushed them into the front pocket of the other man's jeans and turned to go.

"Hey." Bill caught him by the arm. He was starting to feel guilty for what he'd asked this man to put up with, even if it was for money. Pulling the money back out, he shoved it in the other man's pocket. "I didn't ask for change." He paused, mind starting to work at last, now that he was actually _paying_ for what he'd done. "What's your name, anyhow? Your real name, I mean."

"Timothy." Tim took the money back out of his pocket. "And I didn't ask for charity."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Bill said, pushing the money away. "Take it. I need to cut back on my drinking budget, anyhow."

Reluctantly, Tim put the money back in his pocket and shrugged. He could definitely use the blunt, and if Bill didn't want it... Crossing the room, Tim bent to write something on the notepad next to the phone and tore off the sheet. Tim took the paper back to Bill and tucked it in the pocket of his jeans. "My mobile. If you need Oliver again, I mean." Tim tried a smile that didn't quite work. "You've certainly paid me enough for at least one more shot."

For a moment, Bill didn't understand what he -- Timothy -- was talking about, but then he remembered the telephones that Muggles carried about with them. "Oh," he said, shaking his head at himself, "right. I'm not in town much, but..."

"Right," Tim said quietly, cynically. He was vaguely embarrassed now that he'd even bothered, but shrugged it off and turned again to go. At least he wouldn't have to pick up another man tonight, or even tomorrow. He could get some sleep instead.

"Right," Bill echoed as he watched Timothy walk to the door. "Well, take care of yourself, I suppose. And... ah... thanks?"

Tim opened the door and turned back to look at Bill. "My pleasure," he said, actually meaning it for once. "Take care. And it's not too late." With that, Tim left, shutting the door quietly behind himself.

Bill turned away, pushing his hair back from his face with a loud sigh. He glanced over at the open bottle of whiskey, but didn't pour a drink. Instead, he paced over to the desk in the corner and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, fiddled with it and dropped it to the desk without even having any sort of letter in mind. Images played in his mind; what he'd just done, what he'd fantasized about while doing it, and suddenly Bill just _couldn't_ be alone with his thoughts.

Before he could think better of it, Bill pulled on a t-shirt, grabbed his room key, and went bare-foot across the hall to Nigel's room, tapping on the door politely. Charming the door open right after, Bill tried to grin as he opened the door and called out, "Nige, you about?"

Nigel groaned and rolled over in bed, blinking in the light from the hallway. "Bill?"

"Yeah," Bill said, stepping into the room and closing the door. Without waiting for Nigel to invite him, Bill just climbed onto the bed next to his best mate. "You get any tonight?" he asked conversationally.

"Um." Nigel was still not completely awake, and was more inclined to go back to sleep since Bill had shut the door and left them in darkness again. "Any wh- oh. Right. Got sucked off by a bloke with more experience than enthusiasm," he mumbled. He was starting to truly wake up in spite of himself, and he grimaced. Ugh. "Where'd you run off to, anyway? Generally you tell your mates before you vanish, Bill. It's only right. I might still be there looking for you except the kid at the door saw you get in a taxi."

Bill stretched out next to Nigel, his feet tangling in the bed clothes as he curled around Nigel's sleepy form. Ever since that night months ago, when they'd drunk too much and wound up fucking like a pair of ruddy minks, Bill had found a real source of comfort in cuddling with his best friend, the shared body warmth just another level to their relationship that still was nothing more complicated than deep friendship. Sighing quietly, Bill wrapped an arm around Nigel's solid body.

"Had a shag that made my toes curl," he said softly. "As well it should've; paid a small fortune for it." The confession tripped easily past his lips and into the darkened room.

"Paid a - Bill!" Nigel was suddenly completely awake. "You fucked a scrubber? Are you mad?" Nigel gripped Bill's arm tightly. "Tell me you at least used a condom. And spells. God. You have no idea where he's been."

"Of _course_ I did," Bill said, rolling his eyes even though Nigel couldn't see them. "I'm not bloody stupid. Condom and spells. I even looked both ways before crossing the street. And I'm going for my annual physical on Monday, anyhow, so the mediwizard can yell at me for you then."

"M'not yelling," Nigel grumbled, "but really, Bill. What were you thinking? Why didn't you just fuck someone at the club?" Nigel stroked Bill's arm in apology for his previous tight grip. "What if he'd killed you in bed?"

Bill shifted, glad Nigel couldn't see him blushing. "Wasn't thinking. Not really," he mumbled. "I went outside for some air, and there he was on the corner." _Just like Oliver_.

Nigel made an unimpressed sound. "And he was just that irresistible, was he?" Nigel shifted slightly and yawned. "All's well, I suppose, but damn. Think next time, yeah?"

There was a long pause as Bill debated letting it be at that. He knew it would be easier to just let Nigel think he'd been led back to the hotel by his cock and that was it, but at the same time, Nigel was one of the few who knew enough to understand. "When I saw him there," Bill said, almost whispered, "I thought he was... he looked so much like Ollie, Nige. I'd thought I'd gone completely 'round the twist."

 _You have._ Nigel managed to bite back the words and sighed instead. "I see," he said softly. And he did, but that didn't mean it was a good idea. "Bill..." Nigel's voice trailed off into another sigh. "If you're that hung up on the kid, go find him and tell him so. He won't make the first move." This time it was Nigel glad for the dark to hide the colour rising in his face. After all, he was the one who'd told Oliver to shove off, in so many words.

"Not a good idea," Bill said, shaking his head. "Percy wrote me last week and mentioned Oliver's got himself a bloke at school now. After all the pushing for him to do that, I'd be a fucking hypocrite of the worst sort if I tried to get him back. Besides, it's not like what we had going before was anything that special; the only reason I was thinking about him was because of Percy's letter."

"Right," Nigel said dryly. "I rather suspect Oliver would drop his bloke in a heartbeat if you'd just talk to him as if he were an adult instead of making sure that neither one of you could forget his age." An unwilling smile tugged at the corner of Nigel's lips. "Besides, you told him to find a bloke, you didn't say how long he had to stick with one."

Bill laughed, although bitterly. "You make it sound so easy," he said. "But I never could be near him for more than thirty seconds without either wanting to tear his clothes off or picking a row that was about his age. Probably it's best I just let it go and move on, really." He tightened his arm around Nigel, wishing this was just a spell, a curse they could break. "Care to have another go at making me forget?" he asked, but without any real sort of enthusiasm.

"Not a good idea," Nigel said, echoing Bill's words. "We survived one round, I'd rather not risk another." Nigel shifted again so he could wrap his own arm around Bill. "Go to sleep," he said. "You can start trying to move on tomorrow."

Sighing, Bill cuddled closer, needing the comfort his friend offered so freely. He'd been doing so much better, these last couple of months. His life was back in order, no secret trips across the globe or furtive letter-writing. There were days at a stretch where he hadn't even _thought_ about the kid, but ever since Percy's letter, Oliver was right there where he used to be, elbowing common sense aside, just like always. And it felt familiar. It felt right, even if the rest of it (the ache, the emptiness) felt wrong.

"What if I don't want to, though?" Bill whispered. Nigel was the one who knew about this sort of thing, the romantic who always seemed to have the answers to affairs of the heart. "What if I can't?"

"Then you have to get him back." Nigel absently stroked Bill's spine. "If you can't move on, you have to figure out how to get him back. Because otherwise, you'll be miserable, and that's no way to spend your next hundred years."

Bill made a soft, pathetic noise, and burrowed closer to Nigel. "I reckon so," he said quietly, and then laughed. "God, but I hate it when you're fucking right."

Nigel laughed softly. "Think you'd be used to it by now," he smirked, but he hugged Bill close. "Go to sleep," Nigel said again. "There's nothing you can do tonight, and you'll be clearer in the morning after you've rested."

 _~~~*~~~_

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